


you are the dreamer (we are the dream)

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Grantaire Has Issues, M/M, as does enjolras, sleepwalking is about as much fun as drinking battery acid, stupid french boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:24:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire sleepwalks, Enjolras bottles up emotions, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre would really like to be able to lock the door again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are the dreamer (we are the dream)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this tumblr post:  
> http://semenjolras.tumblr.com/post/59335528579/reincarnation-au-where-les-amis-live-together-and  
> 

Courfeyrac and Comberferre leave their door unlocked at night. It probably isn't wise-- they keep hearing about people on the same block as their apartment getting robbed-- but they don't really have much of a choice.

 

It started on a weirdly warm night towards the beginning of November when Combeferre wakes up to Courfeyrac staring over him and shaking him. He's about to do something truly harrowing to his friend for waking him up at 2:17, Jesus _Christ_ , until Courfeyrac hisses " _Listen._ "

 

Someone was twisting their doorknob.

 

They looked at each other as Combeferre eased out of bed. Together, they crept towards the door. Their apartment was on the cheaper side, and the floorboards creaked, but whoever was at the door didn't seem to notice. Courfeyrac slid up to the hinges and reached over, hand hovering just above the shaking knob. Combeferre had grabbed one of his massive Philosophy textbooks and was holding it in prime clubbing position. They exchanged a look, one that said, _if we die tonight, it's been an honor and let's hope the others can stop Enjolras from doing something monumentally regrettable._ Then Courfeyrac unlocked the door and yanked it open in fluid movement.

 

Grantaire stumbled into the room, nearly toppling over.

 

Combeferre experienced a moment of what he would later identify as blinding rage, because while he completely understood that Courfeyrac Saran wrapping R's bike meant _war,_ it needed to mean war when Combeferre wasn't trying to sleep. The moment, however, was short-lived, dying away as soon as he saw R's face.

 

Grantaire, for lack of a better word, looked, _devestated._

Courfeyrac stepped around the door and tried to grab him before he could teeter over, but R yanked back, wild-eyed and pale-faced. He looked from Courfeyrac, to Combeferre, to Courfeyrac.

 

"How are you--" the words can out of him sounding like they had crawled out of their own graves to be heard. His breathing rapidly picked up pace, and this time when Courfeyrac grabbed him he didn't resist, just leaned in and allowed himself to be led to the couch.

 

"Panic attack," Courfeyrac whispered to Combeferre. "I've got this."

 

Combeferre nodded, then locked the door and texted Jehan to inform him of the location of his wayward roommate.

 

He ended up in the kitchen making coffee so he had something to do other than watch Courfeyrac make soothing noises in Grantaire's war and rub his back while he sucked in quick, shallow breaths like the oxygen was fleeing the room. Grantaire gained back some semblance of normality around the time Combeferre poured three cups of coffee and carried them into the room.

 

"So," he said, setting down the mugs and wiping steam off his glasses, "is there something you need to tell us?"

 

Grantaire's smile was uncharacteristically hollow. "Just a bad dream."

 

They didn't press. After all, suddenly regaining another life's worth of memories took its toll on a person; they'd all been showing the effects of remembering.

 

Twenty minutes later, Grantaire walked out the door, apologizing for the intrusion and promising  he could get back to his own apartment safely.

xxx

It happens again the next night.

xxx

Two months later, it's become a nightly occurrence. Grantaire will, at some point in the wee hours of the morning, get out of his bed, leave his apartment, climb the stairwell, enter Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras' apartment, and curl up under their window, where he'll sleep for the rest of the night.

 

At first Courfeyrac or Combeferre would try and wake him up, but it caused everyone less distress to simply let him sleep.

 

(One night-- and only one night-- Enjolras is the one that wakes Grantaire up. Grantaire, when he surfaces from a panic attack that left the one he'd had the first night in the dust, makes two apologies: one to Courfeyrac for breaking his Rarity mug and one to Joly for waking him up so early to pick glass out of his hand.)

 

It's an appropriately freezing afternoon in January when Marius asks what the dream is about. Grantaire nearly drops his bottle and doesn't even pretend to not know what he's talking about.

 

"I'm trying to find someone," he says, voice hoarse.

 

"Who?" Marius asks, popping a French fry into his mouth.

 

Enjolras looks up and there's a moment where his eyes connect with Grantaire's.

 

"I don't know," Grantaire says and Enjolras looks sharply away.

 

("Enjolras," Courfeyrac begins with the caution of someone trying to pet a lion, "how did Grantaire die?"

 

Enjolras' head snaps up so quickly it has to hurt. Courfeyrac can't even begin to decipher the emotions in his eyes.

 

"Very, very bravely.")

 

The 67th time it happens, Grantaire wakes up to see Enjolras in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the paper. The sun, which passes over Grantaire's head from his place directly below the window, perfectly illuminates Enjolras.

 

Almost immediately, Enjolras notices Grantaire and folds the paper closed, smoothing the creases. He looks... nervous.

 

"We need to talk," he says, looking at his hands.

 

Grantaire knows where this is going. He knows the honorable thing to do would be to offer to move out of the apartment to somewhere where he can't bother his friends by sleep-stalking Enjolras. Or to chain himself to his bed. Maybe he could just stop sleeping.

 

"This can't keep happening," Enjolras continues, and Grantaire really hates being right sometimes.

 

"Right. Okay." He pushes himself up off the floor. "I'll start looking at other apartments buildings as soon as I get something caffeinated inside me."

 

"What?" Enjolras visibly recoils.

 

"You want me to move out, right? I mean, I get it. It can't be fun waking up every morning to find me crashed in your living room."

 

"That's not--" Enjolras cuts himself off, biting his lip. He starts to toy with a piece of hair that's escaped the bun at the top of his head. "I don't want you gone. I just... I'm worried about you."

 

Grantaire blinks. "That's-- thank you. But I can't think of another solution, so." He shrugs.

 

"I don't want to kick you out of your home!" Enjolras protests, growing steadily more and more flustered. "We'll figure something else out."

 

Grantaire leans back on the counter, frustrated. "Why do you feel the need to act responsible for me sleepwalking, Enjolras?"

 

"Because I am." Enjolras slumps in his chair.

 

Grantaire couldn't've heard that right. "What?"

 

"I'm responsible for you sleepwalking, for all of this, actually." The blond swallows. "I mean, if I never got the notion of 'hey, let's round up a bunch of school boys who have no way of conceiving the depth of the consequences in store for them to overthrow the monarchy!' none of this would ever had happened."

 

"Enjolras," Grantaire says gently, "you know this isn't your fault, right? You have to know that. You have them the opportunity to leave, and they didn't. They _wanted_ to stay."

" _Because I made them believe we could win._ "

 

That... Grantaire hadn't been expecting that. He opens his mouth to object, but Enjolras keeps talking.

 

"I made them think that we could win, that we were the heroes of the story. That we were the ones that would defeat the evil king. But we weren't. We were the fucking tragic backstory, and it's my fault. And now Courfeyrac hates letting Jehan go places alone, and Éponine can't even _look_ at Marius, and you..."  He stops, like his voice gives out, before licking his lips and continuing. "Grantaire, you climb a flight of stairs in your sleep _so you can die._ Every night. All because I promised you all I could build the future on top of a pile of broken furniture."

 

Grantaire really, really doesn't know how to respond to that. He opts to place a hand at the back of Enjolras' neck and rub his thumb in little circles at the base of his skull. Enjolras slumps over so his head rests on Grantaire's hip. When he doesn't move away, Grantaire clears his throat.

 

"So, ah... do you want to maybe move this to the couch?"

 

Enjolras nods and shuffles to his feet, then over to the lovingly worn couch.

 

They wind up in a sort of awkward half hug with Enjolras partially on top of Grantaire.

 

"So, I realize how this is going to sound coming from me, but you really need to stop bottling things up."

 

Enjolras snorts.

 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, then Enjolras speaks.

 

"Thank you."

 

"Of course," Grantaire replies magnanimously. "I'm always happy to provide comfort for a friend in need. I'm just that sort of good Samaritan."

 

"I know," Enjolras says. "I was talking about the, um. They way we. And then you. And. Um."

 

"Use your words, Enjolras. I know you have a great many of them at your disposable."

 

Enjolras looks Grantaire in the eyes for the first time since Marius asked about the dream and took a deep breath. "Thank you for being there. Because of you, I didn't die alone. And while I know I should never be happy about the fact you died, I'm still grateful you were there for me when I needed you the most. I know it's twisted, but thank you."

 

He looks a little like he regretted as soon as it comes out, and also a little like it's the truest thing he's ever said.

 

A laugh bursts out of Grantaire like buffaloes burst into a stampede or sparks, when introduced to gasoline, burst into flames. "Yeah, well, I figure that I should be there when you need me at least once. Sorry it took so long."

 

"No," Enjolras says. "I think you timed it pretty well."

 

And then he leans up and kisses him.

 

Grantaire sits in shock for a little over a second before jerking away. "Whoa-kay, I don't think we're on the same page here."

 

"Oh." Enjolras looks dejected and rumpled and oddly like a sad cat. "I'm sorry, I thought you-- well. Apparently not. I'll just--"

 

Gantaire grabs his arm. "No, I mean... Look, it's not that I'm not more than slightly in love with you, because everyone knows that, this life and the last one, but you're not thinking clearly. And you're actually doubting the cause, which obviously means you're temporarily _out of your mind--_ "

 

"I'm not doubting the cause, Gantaire," Enjolras interjects. "I'm doubting the methods by which I went around promoting it. And while this is probably incredibly shitty timing, it isn't new. For me."

 

"Oh."

 

"Yeah. So. Um. I have coffee, if you want some?"

 

"Are you asking me if I'd like to get coffee sometime?" Grantaire's cheeks were kind of hurting for how big his grin was.

 

"You said you wanted caffeine earlier," Enjolras said, "so no, not really. But of you _did_ want to get coffee sometime..."

xxx

 

Sometimes Grantaire wakes up his boyfriend when he gets out of bed in the middle of the night, but not often. When it _does_ happen, Enjolras has gotten pretty good at getting him back to bed safely. 

**Author's Note:**

> Can you pinpoint the exact moment I just gave up? Sorry about that.


End file.
